


All The Stars

by emepheral



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Black Panther - Freeform, F/M, Love Through The Ages, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, careful folks, idk how im gonna end it sooo, minor T'challa/nakia, ok seriously but their chemistry tho, yep love that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-03-26 21:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13866027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emepheral/pseuds/emepheral
Summary: The planets aligned differently that day. The sun was never that close to him and he was never that close, to feel its warmth; just desolate and alone. She's always felt the sun and the fierce heat, yet gained the weight of the world in her compassion; all she felt was alone. Maybe they're not so lonely.





	1. far

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first Marvel story ever. I know people usually like to skip these so i'll just keep this short. A couple notes and stuff to keep in mind, if you havent seen the movie *surprise surprise* there will be spoilers here quite a few of them so there's that. This is a Erik/Nakia story, I noticed there wasnt alot and the chemistry between Micheal B. Jordan and Lupita is f*cking crazy I had to do something. I mention Erik's mother sometimes in this because I feel like its definitely something to bring up, considering he's pretty much an orphan. I know nothing of the comics so if somethings wrong refrain from coming for me pls thnx. This story is loosely inspired by Youheldyourbreath's "Love is universal" petermj fic. I love that fic with everything in me and Im a major sucker for soulmate au's and love through the ages tropes so I thought I'd give it a try. So with out further ado "All the Stars".

For him death marked a pathway in his life set in stone. From the moment his father died it was as if their was nothing else left to do but beat the system made to tell people like him he wasn't enough. Stories about home wouldn't suffice and fairytales? They did cut it.

_home_

Erik didn't think he'd ever know the definition of the word in the way everyone else knew it. Home was his father telling him how special he was, how he was of royal blood. Home was his mothers bright eyes and smile whenever she saw him and his dad. Home was dreaming in technicolor of beautiful sunsets and endless clear blue waterfalls. Home was his family he was told he had oh so far away. Getting to Wakanda wasn't the hardest part of his journey neither was being there but something about the scars on his body.

Erik Kilmonger could proudly say he didn't regret much in his life, but damn if he didn't look back and didn't wonder what if. What if his uncle hadn't killed his father? What if he hadn't been left behind? What would've happened if his mother was still alive? His scars didn't just stand for the lives he took but the what if's in his life.

All that didn't matter now though. The world was gonna change. This time with the right people on top and in charge. 

_Im the mother fucking king of Wakanda,_ he thought with proud smirk.

This was everything he worked for.

Erik looked at the grand view the glass in the throne room provided out to the chaotic grey skies of Wakanda. Ivory walls stood proudly and granite floors rested endlessly as the king made his way about the room in solitary thought. He had just revealed his plans to the council and everything was set. People all around the world would get the things they need because of him.

Make no mistake Erik Kilmonger has no delusions of painting himself as some kind of hero, he was a liberator here to show the world a new way, a better way. and no one was gonna stop him not Okoye and her band of wannabe elites not his cousin and sure as hell not his dead uncle, he stiffened in thought.

Seeing his father had been a whirlwind of emotions, it was as if seeing him he wasnt really seeing him but a reflection of everything he's done in his life. Fuck he hope's its enough. Enough to finish what his father started. Enough to never make anyone like him feel like the world abandoned them ever again.

A loud bang made its way into the throne room as the large wooden doors shuddered open a beautiful slim woman made his way toward him with a storm in her eyes rivaling that of the weather outside. She was the chick from the challenge at the waterfall, _Tchalla's girl?_ He gave her a cursory glance as she charged her way toward him. _Hmm looks like cuz don't got bad taste._

"I want to know just who the hell you are?! she seethingly said, feet away from him fists clenched. Erik looked at her, amusement clear in his eyes, face set as stone. _Feisty and gorgeous, not bad at all._ Taking two steps closer to her he asks "And just who the fuck are you?" He challenges, eyes glinting with bite.

At this her nostrils flared and her eyes lit aflame with quiet anger, with her chin raised she replies "Someone on the better side of history thats being made here. Do you really think giving weapons to people outside of Wakanda could lead to something good? The consequences and repercussions from this could only be marked in blood!"

"If blood is whats necessary to forge a revolution then so be it, shawty."

"Then what is your goal?! Hmm? For a nation to survive a strong king is needed to decipher the fate of its people not the fate of the world." She rebuts sharply.

Erik scoffs at her, _She probably one of those traditionalist uptight bitches who thinks she's woke._

"And what just ignore everyone out there suffering?" At this she pauses, expression softening in confusion. "You were at the challenge I saw you, and you know what you don't know shit about the things I've done and what I've seen. What I told y’all only scratches the surface, barely at that. People who look like us need our help just about everywhere and Wakanda doesn't do shit about it everyday."

The world just kind of stops there. She's breathing softly and he's breathing deeply and he can feel it because of how close they've gotten. _So he's not completely crazy_ , she thinks. They're more alike than different not in different universes but in the same stratosphere. She just wants to help people, in fact its all she's ever wanted to do her compassion is her compass and she guesses in some round about way he does too. In that moment she swears she seen him before, and Erik feels a thread of familiarity from her. He can see into her widened eyes how conflicted she is now and all that stops the second he sees it. The clarity is gone, the world spins back on its axis and he eyes alight again this time with determination.

_But he wants to help people the wrong way_ , she thinks.

"Wakanda will help people the right way. In providing resources to those that need it for the betterment of people suffering and not for means of war and violence!" she exclaims in finality as she storms away from him.

Erik watches her go in fixed chagrin, taking a step forward he asks "So you just gon try and tell me off and not give me a name? Not he best way to treat your king" he delivers with a bitter smile.

There's a look of clear malice on her face as she swiftly opens the throne rooms doors and says "Nakia." not bothering to glance back at him on her way out. Now that she has bought time for the Queen and Shuri to convene, she must round Okoye and Ross. _There is not a chance in hell I'm letting this man stay as king_ , she thinks as she leaves.

When Erik watches her go and thinks about stopping her, he recognizes the look in her eyes; will and intent. He's worn that expression out more times than he can count. At this point he knows she's planning something but theres nothing she can do to stop him.

Everything's gonna change.

* * *

 

When T'challa drops him on the edge of the mountain in perfect eye line of the sunset, the colors are seen even when he closes his eyes. He feels the warmth like he feels his mothers arms wrapped around him and hears his fathers call once more.

His cousin voice brings him back. T'challa says something about a second chance and all he can think of coherently is stormy brown eyes, smooth dark skin and a look that could kill.

Erik interrupts him amist it all. "You got a hell of a woman you know that." He heaves out.

_Breathe in. out. in-_

Erik doesn't see T'challa's face contort in a look of confusion. He doesn't see his cousin catch him after he faints or carry him back to the palace. He see's the colors; sees the yellows , oranges and the pinks highlighting his drooping eye lids. Their's a faint whisper at the back of his mind, that tells him he isn't so far from home.


	2. ii. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of what was written here is based first off, historical context; in respect to the Haitian revolution. I’m not gonna lie I google translated literally all the French creole so please don’t hate me if the terms don’t translate correctly. My parents are from DR so I like to think I’m well versed in carribean history. This was cathartic to write to say the least, I don’t exactly know why. So that’s that yea, hope you like this chapter and leave a comment and kudos!

"Love is but the discovery of ourselves in another, and the delight in the recognition."

Ever since Nakia was a little girl she'd dreamed of helping people. It was not until she became an adult she saw her dream for what it really was. It was in spying that she realized her dream was actually a nightmare. People were selfish. Governments were corrupt. Systems made to protect people had worked against them. Resources that were promised bountiful in some places fell short in others and the world was cruel and it didn't demand an equity for all, it created competition . A divide made and fed on by greed and gluttony. 

But in all that was wrong with the world and all of what she saw, she also saw the good.

She saw the communities built by volunteers from foreign countries, she saw the charities and simple acts of kindness from strangers. It was because of this Nakia was an avid believer of seeing the good in all people. In the divide came unity, growth and hope.

So when T'challa announced that Erik Killmonger was now residing in Shuri's lab, comatose from his battle wounds she doesn't know why she reacts the way she does. She stays absolutely silent, internally seething.

"You did WHAT?!" Okoye is the first to react, naturally.

"NO WAY IS THAT PYSCHO STAYING IN MY LAB! The windows are still being repaired from the attack he caused." Shuri adds, eyebrows furrowed.

"My son, you owe N'Jadaka nothing, absolutely none what what transpired between your father and N'Jobu does not befall on you; What's done is done." Ramonda says with conviction, hoping to counterbalance the rage of both Shuri and Okoye with calm and reasoning.

"Exactly what's done is done." T'challa directs towards Shuri as she falls silent in quiet disapproval and deep thought, "and though it does not befall on me to bring baba and uncle together, I'm responsible for making things right." T'Challa says. "We cannot just turn our backs on people who need us, when we have what it takes to save them." He directs the last part to Nakia hoping that more than anyone she would understand the importance of a second chance. She can't meet his eyes.

Nakia lifts her gaze from the ground as her silence breaks, "How are you to explain to the people that a traitor and a murderer lives among us? He tried to weaponize the rest of the world with Wakandan weapons and what? he gets pass?!" she snaps, eyes wide with incredulousness. 

The room is silent

T'challa freezes, as he always does when he see's her and his jaw tenses. She's beautiful and strong willed its hard to get anything out with out sounding like an incompetent fool in front of her. She looks her best like this, when she's being stubborn but so impossible at the same time. Their reconciliations are never so short lived.

"Nakia...." 

Its all he manages to say as he watches her leave in frustration. T'challa sighs, why is doing whats right is always so hard?

"You really have a way with words brother." Shuri breaks the silence, shaking her head, her settled frown turns to a wry smile.

"Shut up."

_____

Normally when people think of death they associate it with alot of things. That big ass bright light at the end of the tunnel, a haven, heaven, place of solicitude; just different shit. When Erik went into the ancestral plane at first, he thought he was trippin the fuck out, what with the bright lights and beautiful scenery. The vivid purple night sky synchronizing with blues to give a gentle silhouette that rested eyes on his eyes; the only thing snapping him back to reality, his location. He was back in Oakland and he knew he would see his father.

He figures maybe death would be like that; If life was kind to him.

Life is not kind to him.

Erik wakes up in a place unfamiliar to him. Now that concept isn't one that is so unknown to him. Being who he is, in dealing with secret operative missions he's had to wake up in different places before but this feels...foreign.

Like he's awake but it's not really him that's awake. 

Erik does what he always does in situations like this; he looks around his surroundings and snoops until he remembers something. And fast.

He's in a tent, the hot humid air hits his lungs like nothing he's ever felt before. Wearing a soft cotton flowing shirt, he stands and the candle light on the ground gives him view of his surroundings.

Where the fuck am I? He thinks.

Exiting the tent he finds he's surrounded by evergreens and wild embers, scattered all around him are men just like him, only beaten, battered and bloody. All wearing tattered cloths only more worn and torn down for wear, like they've been fighting. Must've taken a hell of a beating, damn, Erik's thoughts mused.

Suddenly he hears voices, whispers of a different past a truth of a life that seems like it's all his. It's familiar. The life of a solider.

Flashes of a child hidden in cabinets not playing a game but scared for his life appear before his eyes. Another of gathering prized sugar canes and a steel glare in his eyes, feeling a hatred he's all too familiar with. Finally he's burning it all to the ground, there's no sweeter satisfaction in knowing he's the one in charge now.

Erik's head pounds, the pain of the misplaced memories a little too much to bear. Well shit that's not my name anymore is it, he thinks as he pushes in deep thought, Erik struggles for breath.

"Jean,  ou anfom?"

Are you okay?

Erik looks up from the ground at the man before him, his head had automatically translated what he said. Jean, Erik repeated in his head.

That's my fucking name

Looking around, he sees a makeshift campfire and men huddled around, some making weapons from sticks, some cooking what looks to be molasses and others keeping a look out. Look out for what?

Where the fuck am I? More importantly, when the fuck am I? None of what he sees around him translates to any modern time. Erik had been on enough missions to know how to quickly take in surroundings and where he was.

"Jea-"

"Kiyes ou ye?" Erik, or rather, Jean interrupts impatiently. The man looks at him in confusion and brings his hand up to check his head. Erik, as if on auto-pilot, intercepts his hand and twists it behind his back. The man lets out a yelp and the entire camp springs up, alert to the cries of pain.

"kite'm ale! L-Let me go!" The man stutters as he struggles against Erik's grip. Around the camp the men take a defensive stance, he hears murmurs "What's wrong with him?" "Maybe he got hit in the head to hard?" "Should we kill him?". At the last one Erik stiffens and his grip tightens.

I gotta find who's in charge, Erik scans the crowd looking for the familiar face; the leader.

A large burly man with smooth dark skin and almond eyes makes his way to Erik, huh must be the leader , he speaks "kite'm ale, Jean! Let Pierre go, you are not well." Erik looks around again at the faces of all the men; they're all scared. Terrified even, they gotta be runnin from something. In that moment Erik is a little boy again, finding his father; He's scared straight. I aint gonna get all the answers like this , clearly, he thinks looking around with cautious eyes.

He lets Pierre go and its as if everyone sighs in relief, the camp breathes again. 

The leader, Etienne steps up to a hunched over Pierre and asks if he's okay, he nods in response with a heavy breath. They both look over to Erik, hesitance transparent on their faces. 

"We are not the people they think us to be. We are not here to be divided amongst ourselves enough of our brothers are separated from us by the white man." Erik looks around and see the men with sullen looks played out on their faces hanging on to their leaders every word, others looked down at the floor as if in contemplative thought and with prayer. 

Erik scoffed at the men, if God was no where to be found when they masters even took them to begin with, why keep prayin now? 

"We need to be an island united with our brethren and most especially with our ancestors." The words called a breeze on to the makeshift encampment, the fire flickered slightly and there was a still lull over the men. Oh hell no, this some voodoo type shit, Erik pauses looking at the men around him perturbed while the rest were simultaneously soothed and focused. They circled around one another almost taking a stance to fight or dance.

Yea definitely some witchcraft shit

The leaders voice rings loud, "We will have no violence among our men." He speaks with a tone of finality.

With the ending of Etienne's speech and the men circling it hits Erik. I'm on a fucking island Eriks eyes go wide as he looks at the beach with new confidence.

They're wearing bloody tattered flowing shirts and ripped bottoms, most don't have shoes or pants. He's on an island and his memories fixate him to a time where he and all his brethren and were subjected to a life below the means of property.

He breathes, he remembers they are all runaway slaves.

Fuck fuck fuck 

Eric has to ask but he knows better now than to act so hostile. The camp is back as it was; men sitting and staring into the fire tending to wounded soldiers and Scouting for food. With an exception of only a few circling in preparation for something, something life altering.

Eric notices the leader makes his way to at the center of the fire. There's a pentagram drawn and various burnt figures. Eric grabs his arms he turns and faces Eric warily. Eric put his hands up, hopefully showing a gesture of sanity. The other men around him leave at his nod, as if to say it was all right.

Erik finally gets to ask him the question that's been burning him since he put the pieces together. "What year is it?" He's got to hear him say it. He's got to know he isn't completely trippin and read one too many stories on his ancestors or slipped through some fucking time hole when he died. Eric made sure to ask with a blank face. He'd learned the best way to relay a message was through an impassive expression.

The leader, Etienne, he remembers and tries to keep his expression stone cold at the memory. Kamasi's eyebrows furrow and his arms cross, "1803".

The world goes black.

_____

Eric realizes he's unconscious before he registers he's dreaming. He doesn't have dreams; he hadn't had dreams since he was six years old in Oakland, with a sky that had color and infinite possibilities.

"Mama Marie what are you doing?"

She had a long brown dress that met her ankles and a fabric that wrapped around her head. Marie's expression fixated and focused on the bowl in front of her. The herbs she was grinding in the molar, she confronts the small voice; "Hush child" she scolds in a distinct heavy French Creole accent. Resuming her imminent work in prime time for the awaiting master. "Travay tankou sa a pran atansyon sou delay." she mummers to him. Jean spots her with another confused look; why is this so important? its just another meal, He thought.

Erik was never really one to be curious, but it looked as if in this life; Jean was. Not a product of patience and coldness but compassion, wonder and haste. All qualities that wouldn't necessarily be associated to the life of a solider. But he wasn't supposed to be born one, just apparently made into one by the life given to him. His curiosity got the best of him and so did his emotions at the times that would only inconvenience him. 

His body was beginning to stir and he feels arms tossing him awake, his body cocooned in the raised voices of the men surrounding him and loud rustling. "revere! revere!" he constantly hears as he's being roused. 

Wake up. Wake up!

Jeans eyes widen to the sounds, the men are chanting as they form small bands getting ready to run to something. Jean's eyes narrow at the men as he gathers himself up to see what they were gather around. As he walks up the men settle into a nearing calm demeanor and quiet down to hear the voice of the leader.

Etienne's voice echos through the makeshift camp, now practically gone with the men themselves as if it was never there. "Today is a day which marks an event in history that shall forge revolutions such as this one that rings freedom true. Ink and partridge will call us savages and will say it was everyman for themselves with the pain we will unveil on the white man but we will know the truth today and it will live with us in infamy; Today we burn the white mans land to the ground."

The camp breathes with his words, Jeans looks around at the men the fire in their eyes burning to take back what is rightfully theirs. "zile nou yo!" Etienne's voice booms and the men yell in appraisal. They echo their leaders sentiment; "Zile nou yo!" They begin there desent away from the campsite and trek toward the nearest plantation. 

Our island, Jean thinks, the statement floating in his mind. Thousands of people like them breaking themselves apart and barely putting themselves together on a day to day basis just to provide for people who have looked at them selves as higher. As Gods; the sweet molasses and sugar cane like their nectar and the slaves the bugs needed to extract the nectar while the white man collects it all for the taking. Jean feels his blood race and his heart quicken, it was time to take it all back.

The air thick with anticipation and energy for retribution and chaos. He begins to let his thoughts take over so much that he doesn't realize Etienne call his name until he stops him. His arm is on Jean's shoulder heavy weight as they continue walking, "Are you alright Jean?" he says again. 

Jean looks back at him and blinks his intense emotions back, "Yes, Im fine. The spirits must've taken over my thoughts." At this Etienne's concerned, wary expression turns into a soft silent smirk, "Our ancestors are with us tonight, and we shall use their presence as our fuel in this fight." They continue their trek with the men and the soft chants continue, whispering in the darkness the ancestors not only their ammunition but surprise as well. 

After a couple beats of silence Etienne looks at him the weight of his words on his face and adds, " You know when we first met I never took you for someone who would make a fighter, a makeshift solider no less. I thought you too much of a loose canon; too reliant on your emotions and impatient"

Jean looks to him puzzled, "Why keep me here then?"

"While we have no time to waste, I knew I saw something in you. A warrior, buried within you."

Jean looks up at the islands surroundings and the endless greens, "In some other life maybe I was or my ancestors were or something." 

Etienne's eyes narrow, there was no room for distractions or thoughts; just instinct and action. "Well here and now you play an important role in this, we need everyone focused. Your responsible for taking the group of men into the west wing of the plantation and silencing anyone found. If you can't do it I'll find someone else because its all down to right now." He says with dark eyes. Jean meets his eyes with a subdued expression.

"Nothing is stopping me from taking back what's ours." he replies with conviction, renewed energy flowing in his veins, he chants, "pou zile nou yo!"

for our island.

Etienne looks on with a barely there soft proud smirk.

_________

The men sneak into the property like deities of the night. Etienne and Jean exchange looks nodding as they section off with their men. The large estate decorated in colorful flowers and greens embedded in the dark earth surround them as Jean lead the men to the west wing of the house quietly through the windows. He tells three men to stay downstairs and another to follow him up. Jacque, he remembers as they climb their way silently up the steps.

They separate, Jacque heading toward the parlor and Jean to the library. The endless pages surround him; all written in different languages. All to be burned to the ground. It was said that knowledge was power and on this night, the power was to be stripped of the masters and into the hands of the oppressed. He presses his fingers lightly to the foreign covers and takes a sweep of the room again. Not a soul in sight he thinks and almost makes his way out in haste. Almost.

BANG

Jean hears an assumed book fall and follows the noise to the back, the dark corner of the room and is greeted with a fleeting shadow and the sound of quiet fast footsteps fleeting. He looks around in swiftness and runs out to spot anyone, he's met with an empty hall way. "modi li" he curses to himself and runs down the stairs. He sees his men and tells them to make haste. He begins to help the other men loot the place and he can't help but feel he's forgotten something.

Jacque, he recalls again with wide eyes, and pauses. 

'In this world its every man for himself' He hears Mama Marie echo and feels a headache stir in his mind. 'I thought you too much of a loose canon; too reliant on your emotions and impatient' Etienne's words crawl in his mind; simultaneously grounding him and making his head spin. He would have to choose now; let his guilt take over and go get Jacque or think of the betterment of the men and help get them out.

His body makes the decision for him as he whispers to the other men that look at him in wary confusion and directs them to make there way to the plantation to prepare the fire and get the loot out. Jean bolts upstairs, foot steps feeling heavier with each ascending step. He collides into someone.

The first thing he notices about her is her warmth, not just exclusive to her flushed face, not her chest where heat radiates to his, but in her eyes and in her hands that found their way to his biceps to keep steady from falling. She's staring up at him with fear in her wide eyes and tries to still her body from shaking. Jean almost smiles at the attempt to keep her composure, in the most inopportune moment, he's reminded of where they are. A flare of familiarity springs within him as he looks into her eyes.

"Who are you?! Who are those men outside this house?" she demands in a stern voice, Jean can hear the shakiness and uncertainty, and feels and unprecedented need to will it away with anything. He shakes the feeling away and demands her name, "You are not in the position to be asking questions, get as far away from here as you can. Whispers of a revolution, a revolt in the making were all true. Its happening now." Jean states, glaring into her eyes.

The young woman gives him a cursory glance, I guess if he's warning me he can't be all bad. "My name is Antoinette. I don't understand what's going on but this has been my home since-".

"This has been your prison, don't lie." Jean's face turns to stone and her once warm ambient eyes turn to ice. "Look you stay and you meet your demise; you and everyone else here." He thinks she looks like she's about to run and then he's met with an all to familiar sound; a shot gun clicking.

Jean looks up, wide eyed at the assailant and pushes Antoinette against the wall away from from the gun. They share the same breath in what feels like a second and are harshly pulled back to reality at the sound of footsteps growing closer. 

"RUN" Jean tells to her in finality, Antoinette's eyes widen in fear and practically flies toward the stairs. I have to find Mila, she thinks name ringing in her mind with each step.

Jean feels the thick barrel of the long rifle connect with the back of his head and he's dizzy again. He feels his muscles grow weak and is nearly over powered but delivers a semi solid punch to the mans stomach. Jean starts to get back up and looks at him, he's not to old, slimly built and had long blonde hair to his shoulders, must be the masters son, he assumes.

In haste the son tries to get back the gun that was tousled from his hands in the fight but Jean quickly takes the gun from the ground and aims it pointed downward at him. His eyeline blurred from the attack, a headache still prevalent at the center of mis mind; he falters and sways.

"you stupid foolish girl!" a young Jean hears in the dining room as he spies Mama Marie picking up frantically at the fallen broken tea cups and liquid from the hardwood floors. 

"I-I sorry massa. je- pardon." He hears her say as she looks down to the broken pieces in a look of, impossibly, both panic and calm. Jean's eyes narrow in curiosity, what is going on.

The master, James, grabs Mama Marie by the collar of her torn at the hem brown dress and brings her back down with a thud her body travels as she tries to get up. Jean is not used to seeing her so weak and feeble at the hands of anyone.

He hears her take a deep breath as he draws closer to he scene, quietly, Jean knows better by now. I have to help her, he thinks.

"There is s-still corn m-meal massa." Mama Marie states looking down at the silverware; eyes narrowed. Jean see's the masters wife with a look of impatience and a huff is released from her lips as if announcing her arrival even though she's been there the whole time. 

"I simply can not believe this incompetence, James. I told you we we're better of getting one that was not so old." the Madame said with her chin high and her eyes cross. James rolled his eyes and sat back down.

"Well this is what we have, Claudette. It will take some work but both the old and the young minds can be molded." He states in finality, Claudette looks as if she were to let out another sigh of impertinence; she holds her tongue.

The room is quiet as Mama Marie gets up and serves the corn meal, and when both Claudette and James push there chairs back in to take there first bites of the meal. Jean notices a look of panic cross Mama Maries face as she fades back into the shadows waiting to be called again to collect the dishes, unless... she wasn't waiting to be called at all. He looks to the floor in contemplation waiting for the puzzle pieces to connect. Jean thinks back to Mama Marie first preparing the meal with utmost caution different than in most cases, when she prepared meals naturally, as if it came to her in her sleep.

He looks up in realization and a sudden subtle gasp escapes his mouth, she's poisoning them. She dropped the tea and silverware so they wouldn't be wary of the meal and so they would consume it quicker. Jean was a very curious child, he knew this about himself, so he sought to know the way of the world around him and right now many masters of the molasses plantations were fearful of poison by the slaves. I just never thought she'd be the one to do it, he thinks in fear.

Suddenly her gaze meets his from her place in the room and he knows she's telling him to leave but he cant, Jean shakes his head no. He just doesn't understand, Mama Marie had always told him to be careful and to look out for himself. But now she's endangering herself and for what? why? he thinks in confusion.

"Hey you!! What are you doing hiding there?! Come now." Jean looks up in his confusion, he'd been spotted and his eyes go wide. James and his wife are still eating and waiting for him to come closer, Claudette is now looking downward to her lap.

"Hurry up boy, we do not have all day or night." James says hastily. 

"Y-yes massa." Jean replies, he notices Mama Marie stiffen from her corner trying to look anywhere but the scene in front of her. 

"J-James, Im afraid..I'll have t-to be excused...I don't quiet..feel a-alright" Claudette drifts off as she falls unconscious in her seat. 

"Claudette!" James calls to her, reaching out he feels her pulse faint beneath his finger tips. His eyes are wide and some how calculating, the puzzle pieces connect for him too, James looks to them both. The stiffening and looks on Mama Maries face and Jeans hiding while they ate. It was a poisoning to do away with them both, he sprints up and as if all in the room had the same realization so did mama Marie only it was in front of Jean in a protective stance.

"please, p-please mercy massa, m-mercy on him, he no know no thing. I promise. mwen pwomèt, please." She says tears evident in her eyes, body in front of Jean. Jean reaches out to hold her skirts, as if to comfort her even though he was scared to.

James sneers at them and grabs at Mama Marie and Jean screams "NO! NO!!" as he grabs for her skirt tighter. Suddenly he hears his massa call out "Pierre, my brother! we have conspirators and murders, get the rope." Jeans eyes widen in fear and he feels himself tremble, the rope was to be used for one of two things, discipline with lashes and death by hanging. 

James lets them go and goes to carry Claudette's body to presumably their bedroom to get a doctor to her, Jean knows it'll be too late; for any of them.

"You better pray to the almighty that heaven strikes you mercifully if you even so attempt to leave this room." James bellows to them in his exit but Jean sees him lagging with her body and falter as he makes his way up the stairs; the poisons taking him too.

Mama Marie turns to Jean and with a stern accepting expression on her face tells him calmly, "You must go Jean."

"B-but-"

"NO! ", she yells at him and he draws quiet. "You must leave and never look back, run as far as those little legs can take you anywhere but here. I've lived as long as my ancestors intended me, but you must live. I know you cannot understand why now but you will. Let not that curiosity be the death of you." Mama Marie says passionately as she strokes his face. "It's everyman for himself in this world." she finally whispers to him. Teary eye meeting weary eye, as there heads briefly connect, one laying on the other for what felt like a second.

They get up together and she's pushing him to the dining room doors, "Go, GO!"

Jean runs to the backwoods of the plantation like he'd never run before, out of breath, with tears streaking down his face; he makes his way away from the only mother he's ever known.

With a steady punch to the jaw Jean feels his head connect with the floor and oddly enough he feels his dizziness subside. I couldn't save her, he remembers, with a heavy breath. A strong kick to the stomach tethers him to reality and he fights back. 

"You killed her! ou tout touye l!" Jean declares as he punches the man across the face and forces his weight on his arms to grab the gun from his clutches. With it and overwhelming anger he beats it over his face thrice. He feels a tear run down his right eye, "I know you cannot understand now but you will" and he does, Jean understands it all now.

He delivers a swift kick to the stomach that has the master's son spitting blood, clutching his gut from his position on the floor.

Jean turns toward the stairs standing tall, they all gonna pay he thinks, his shirt marked in blood and hands clutching the gun only to toss it to the floor, he makes his away downstairs and to the back of the house at the shed where it was planned they were to all rendezvous. 

Jean hides in the shadows in plain sight and spots the woman from before with the familiar eyes, Antoinette, he remembers; his eyes narrow. She isn't alone, someone much smaller than her clutches her hand and they're both looking around vigilantly, trekking through the backyard. Once she's close enough to grab, he pulls her into the darkness and hears a sharp intake of breath along with an abrupt shriek from the little one.

"Shhh.. " Jean tells her looking around to see if anyone had heard.

When he looks back he meets Antoinette's wide eyes in them he see's wariness and familiarity too, a strange mix, he thinks looking at the little one clutching her hand like a lifeline. "I thought I told you to run." He says with as serious tone, drawing closer to them. "I was not going anywhere with out my little sister." She replies with narrowed fiery eyes and a high chin.

She has a fighting spirit within her, he thinks crossing his arms in challenge. One she seems to accept when her chin juts further. I like that, he thinks with a slight smirk.

They're faces are so close together, they exchange breaths with the air so thick with an unpalatable tension and smoke. Both are unaware of this until the little one tugs at Antoinette's hand pointing at the right wing catching quick fire, its blazes being reflected in all their eyes and Jean knows now where they must go.

Looking back to Antoinette he says "Right now I need you to trust me, will you?" he asks. She looks at him skeptically then to her sister still holding her hand, with her little eyes emitting real fear that no child should know. "I'm going to have to." she replies warily.

"Then follow me." Jean says hastily already running toward the front of the house with Antoinette and Mila trailing his tail. The fire's embers race along the house as he makes his way to the entrance. The wild evergreens of the plantations never to be reaped by the white man again. The molasses unkept and burnt to ash by his brothers, he spies Etienne struggling to make his way to him while the men still fight. He has blood marked across his face and his arm looks to be popped out of its socket. 

Jean runs to him, out of breath Etienne tells him, "Its time to go, we must retreat more plantations must be claimed."

At this news Jean turns to an unsettled Mila and Antoinette and their gazes hold. He doesn't know what it is about her. The way her skin looks soaking in the colors of the embers, or the way her eyelashes curl, or the fire and familiarity in those eyes themselves but he cant exactly bring himself to look away. There's this pull, and he knows Antoinette cant stop looking at him either even with the tug Jean see's Mila give her for the sixth time in two minutes.

Jean feels his hand come out toward her and his lips moving before hearing himself say, "Come with me." The comotion is evident, with the burning of the molasses and the fighting between slave and master, and the burning of the house but somehow everything goes silent to both Jean and Antoinette now.

"I-I can't." she tells him and pauses to look to her sister. "I have to take care of her and get her somewhere safe; I cant fight in a war marked in carnage and bloodshed that will not be won."

"What war isn't?" He asks.

"Exactly." Antoinette replies wistful expression on her face, she squeezes her sister's hand, mummers something into her ear and runs into the woods.

She turns back to look at him and he knows the unsaid message written in her gaze, stay safe. Jean realizes he knows alot when it comes to her; he gives him self one last glance at her before the pair disappears, before he's stuck there just looking; and then he runs too with Etienne and the other men, on to fight the next battle in the war for Haiti.

xxxx

"He looks dead." Okoye says glaring at Erik's body on the lab table from a distance.

Shuri chuckles, "Im sure your glaring doesn't necessarily help with the goal of resuscitating him. Strangely enough I don't think anyone would want to come back only to be killed by that glare." She says as she checks if his IV cords are properly injected and if the oxygen tank is emitting correctly.

"Yes well I'd be doing wakanda a favor wouldnt I?" Okoye replies, rhetorically. 

"That's not up to us, Okoye." Shuri unwillingly reminds her, although I wish it was, it goes unsaid but they both hear it regardless. Shuri looks up from her work and see's the broken glass being cleaned up from her floor and swift repair being done to the windows and her other broken machinery being fixed by fellow employers. It shouldn't have to be done by anyone but this comatose asshole, even if he's my related comatose asshole, Shuri thinks shaking her head.

As if noticing the negative nature of her thoughts Okoye uncharacteristically puts a hand on her shoulder, "You and I both know Tchalla always makes the right call when it comes down to it, just trust that." she says knowing look on her face.

"I know thats what makes him so annoying" Shuri replies slight smile on her face. Okoye barks out a laugh and Shuri chortles. Okoye makes her way out for a meeting with the Dora Milaje.

Shuri sighs looking at the Erik, helpless on her lab table. She tries to focus her energy on fixing her sonic weapons, the very weapon that he had a hand at damaging, she shakes her head again. That's when she hears it.

BEEP BEEP

BEEEPPP

The noise is stagnant at first then starts to built and draw out as time went on. Shuri moves from her place at her desk toward the machine reading Erik's brainwaves and her eyes go wide. The sharp lines that dipped and skyrocketed in the machine were repeating again and again. ??? these types of waves are only emitted when someones seizing.

Shuri gives him an unsure look and a hesitant poke at his cheek, and she breathes out, Okay so nothing outwardly wrong, other than the fact that he's a psychopath.

She looks at the machine again in confusion, she knows its not broken all medical tech is regularly updated by her every six months and the mind machine was in perfect shape. Shuri looks to her cousin again, What the hell is going on in there?


End file.
